Chapter 10 #2
Then again, if a viscount in line for an earldom approved, perhaps the disparity in position was not as great as she’d feared. A small smile curved her lips.
Prudence bounced on the bed. “I see that you approve.”
“Not of the plan, but perhaps of the gentleman. Tell me, is that why you gave us so much space this morning?”
The grin Prudence tried to cover confirmed Grace’s suspicions. “I am unsure what you are speaking of.”
“No, you are not, Pru. You may wander when we go out, but you never stay away for long. Lord Gladsby and I talked and played for a full quarter hour before you made your way back to us.”
“It was actually half an hour. I know. I checked my timepiece.”
“So you were in on it.”
“No, but playing matchmaker seemed so fun, I had to try my hand at it. I have to say that I was a smashing success.”
Grace shook her head, but she had to admit those few minutes had been her favorite… that is, until the mistletoe. Butterflies fluttered in her belly at the memory.
“You have that look again.”
“Look?” She rose from the dressing table, plaiting her hair as she approached the bed.
“You know, the one where you are floating off into the land of happily ever after with your one and only.”
“I do not.” But then she giggled, and Prudence punctuated her assertion with a raise of her dark eyebrows.
Grace began laughing so much she could hardly tie the ribbon about her braid.
Prudence giggled, too. Whether from the sight of her wrestling with the ribbon, or her inability to stop laughing, she did not know, but it felt good.
For the first time, she allowed a tiny seed of hope to sprout in her heart.
“Oh, let me do it,” Prudence finally said. “You are making a mess of all the work you have already done.”
When her plait was fixed and Grace had finally sobered, they crawled into the big bed.
Grace blew out the candle, and Prudence rolled to her side. “You never did answer my question about the kiss.”
“I am not sure what to tell you. It was sweet and glorious, but a little too short.”
Prudence giggled again. “And does it have a taste?”
“I could not say. His lips barely brushed mine, but they were warm and very soft.”
A sigh rustled the hair by her face.
“That sounds marvelous,” Prudence said sleepily, then yawned.
“It was, Pru. It truly was.”
Alan paced from one end of his bedchamber to the other.
He’d never bothered to move to the master’s rooms when he’d returned from war two and a half years ago, and now he was glad he had not.
At least this room had no connecting door to a lady’s chamber.
That would remind him even more of how much he wished things were different.
Even now, he berated himself for kissing Grace.
He could have given her a nice chaste peck on the cheek or even better, upon her hand, but she’d been too irresistible in the warm candlelight.
Her hair had shone like burnished copper and her skin had glowed with health and beauty.
In his delusion, he’d convinced himself that he could handle one little kiss.
It would be the only one they shared. A sort of goodbye kiss to bury his infernal attraction to her.
What a ridiculous notion. How had he ever thought that one little taste of Grace’s lips would ever be enough? He was like a drunk who’d been given a sip of brandy after a hard day. He wanted more, needed more. It would be even harder to resist her now.
He flopped into a chair near the fire and buried his head in his hands. Why had he let Emma convince him to hold this house party?
Leaning back, he stared into the embers until his vision grew blurry. The warmth of the blaze made him yawn, and he leaned his head back against the chair, telling himself he’d close his eyes for only a moment.
When he awoke hours later, the room had grown chilly, but he was drenched in sweat with his hands aching from being clenched so tight.
He tried to calm his heavy breathing. With the dream still vivid in his head, he rose and found the pitcher of water on the side table and poured a glass.
He downed the cool liquid in a few quick swallows.
Something creaked in the corner and he spun, instinctually snatching a dagger out of the nearby drawer.
Darkness was all that met him.
His hand shook as he picked up the poker and stirred the fire back to life. When the light was sufficient, he checked every corner. All was clear. He slipped the knife back into its place in his bureau.
Out the window, the horizon was becoming grey, warning that dawn was far closer than he’d realized. He shook his trembling arms and willed the unwelcome fear to depart, but it always happened like this.
He’d have a dream that started with Harvey’s disappearance and ended with him finding his body. But it had never really happened.
He still did not know what exactly had happened to his friend. The only proof he was truly gone had come through an unrepentant confession from a man far more evil than any other he’d ever met.
Sancerre’s beady, heartless eyes and bulbous nose swam in his memory.
The image was so real he had to remind himself that France’s most lethal spy was dead.
Hung two years ago. But his broken mind could not seem to grasp the truth and kept torturing him with realistic dreams. When would it ever catch up with reality?
Maybe never. Dipping his hands in the washbasin, he splashed his face with shockingly cold water, but it did not still his racing thoughts.
His dreams always made him jumpy. Even the smallest noises would muddle his mind and send him back in time to battles he never wanted to remember. He’d have to be careful today if he did not want to scare anyone.
Or, even worse, injure them.